


Speechless

by orphan_account



Series: kink meme summer '15 [3]
Category: Castle
Genre: 2x11, Bathroom Sex, Community: kink of the castle, F/M, Semi-Public Sex, The Fifth Bullet, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode insert: 2x11, The Fifth Bullet. After running into her and getting her full of coffee, he has to apologize. This isn't exactly the kind of apology he had in mind. Fill for the summer 2015 kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speechless

“Beckett?” he calls.

The metal door to the precinct bathroom is closed, his persistent knocks muffled. He pushes it open just enough for his voice to carry a little better, for her to hear him.

“Beckett?”

There’s no response, _again_ , and he sighs, leaning against the doorframe.

“Beckett, if you don’t answer…” he cuts off, pushing the door open a little more, poking his head into the bathroom.  “Man coming in!” he announces, taking a step into the beige room, turns a corner and—

_Fuck._

“Castle?” She turns, zipping towards him, dark brown hair fluttering around her shoulders, wide eyes meeting his. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

_Fuck._

She’s not wearing a shirt. Or a bra. _Nothing._ Just…bare. Bare _everything._

_Fuck._

“Castle?”

“I– I knocked,” he stutters, “and, uh, an— announced my entry.” He points to the door like a teenager caught after curfew.

“Yeah, well, wait for an answer next time,” she quips.

But she doesn’t make a move to cover herself. To hide. To pretend that she’s not standing in front of him completely shirtless.  To…

“Castle!”

He blinks once, realizes that he’s staring. _Blatantly staring._ At her. At her bare chest. At _her._

He draws his gaze away, as much as his body protests, and meets her gaze.

It’s, surprisingly, not all that angry. Actually more...amused?

“Seriously, Castle?” she asks. And she’s still not trying to cover herself. “You sign groupies’ chests for living but you act like a teenage boy when you actually see them?”

His eyes flick up towards her, to the teasing glint in her eyes, teasing and playful, the grin that’s spread across her face, the corner of her lip just barely caught between her teeth.

The red tint to her cheeks and the not-so-subtle quickening of her breath that tells him she is not unaffected by this.

No, she’s _definitely_ affected by this.

“What? All talk no action?” she starts again. “All the chest signings nothing, Castle? All those articles on page six? The groupies that hang off your arms? They never–”

His hands wrap around her hips, tug her against him and his head goes for her chest, his lips catching her nipple. It draws a loud, unexpected moan from her, and it spurs him into action.

He has her flipped and shoved up against the counter, pressing himself hard against her. His fingers release her hip, travel up, along her tiny waist, over the ladder of her ribcage to the curve of her breast. He cups it gently, brushes his thumb over her already pebbled nipple.

The sharp tip of her heel digs painfully into his calf. But the way her hips press against his makes up for it.

She whimpers when he releases her, just for a second, before letting out another long moan as he catches the other nipple in his mouth, purposefully letting his teeth nip at it for just a millisecond.

It seems to drive her crazy, based on the way her hands land in his hair, hold him in place.

Her circles her with his tongue before releasing her chest with a soft pop.

Her leg his hiked up over his hip, her chest heaving with every breath, her lips parted. He takes in the sight of her, her slightly rustled hair and her dark eyes. She looks…incredibly turned on.

And sexy as hell.

“That shut you up,” he breathes.

She scowls. “Traditionally, a man takes me out on a date, or at least _kisses_ me before sucking my nipples,” she tells him dryly, completely ignoring his statement.

“You’re mouth was busy talking, but your nipples were right there,” he shrugs.  “Besides, you didn’t seem to be complaining at the time.”

She scowls, but her eyes are still dark and her face still flushed and he has enough experience with women to recognize the tensing of her abs, the way she’s fighting against her own body. The way her hips twitch against his.

He grins. “You know what I think?”

“What?” she huffs.

His eyes flicker down her body, his hand trailing down her side, and he squeezes her hip. “I think you weren’t complaining,” his other trails up her side, his fingers brushing the underside of her breast, “because you liked it.” She doesn’t say a word, her jaw clench tightly and, _yes,_ he is so right.

His thumb brushes over the stiff peek of her nipple. “I think you,” his hand wraps around her hip, fingers drifting over the zipper of her pants and she lets out a stuttering breath and spurs him on, has his fingers pressing against the seam of her pants, right where she wants it, “want me, Beckett.”

She swallows thickly, staring him down, fire dancing in her eyes. “Are you gonna do something about it?”

It’s a challenge, sounds almost like a threat, but it’s all he needs.

He presses his lips to hers, open mouthed and hard and wet and his tongue slides into her mouth within seconds. She moans into the kiss, _into him_. Her fingers clawing at his head, her heel digging into her ass.

Her lips are soft. No matter the amount of desperate that floods the kiss, her lips are _so soft._ And she tastes like coffee, sweet with a hint of bitter, like cream and coffee and vanilla. And though in that moment all he can think about is the roll of her hips against his, something inside him is begging to get to kiss her softly, sweetly, tangled in her sheets when she has bedhead and morning breath and _God_ , that’s sappy.

“Stop thinking,” she groans. “And get your pants off.”

He laughs, _actually laughs_ , against the ridge of her cheekbone, against the spot right below her ear, against the thundering of her pulse. “You know,” he mumbles, “usually when you tell me to stop thinking, it’s to stop thinking about _you_. Naked. And _this_.”

She pushes him away, just a bit, just enough for her to start plucking at the buttons of his shirt. “Yeah, well, stop thinking about it now, too, and start _doing it._ ”

He hums. “So bossy.”

“Shut _up._ ”

He chuckles again, helps her undo the last button of his shirt. “I thought you wanted me pants off.”

She glares. “What do you not understand about _shut up_?”

His shirt hits the floor. His teeth nibble at her ear.

“You should know by now, Kate, that I never listen when you tell me to shut up,” he whispers.

Her head falls against his shoulder. “We really don’t have time for this.”

“Then shut me up.”

She does. She tears herself away from his mouth and presses her lips against his, teeth nipping at his lips, tongue plunging into his mouth. He hears the clink of metal, the buckle of his belt, feels the leather being pulled from around his waist.

But he’s stupidly unprepared when her hand plunges under his waistband and her fingers wrap around his cock.

“Ka- _Beckett._ ”

She shoves his pants down his hips and starts working him quickly.

“If you don’t fucking hurry, I will lock myself in a stall, get myself off and leave you like this,” she threatens.

He groans, His hips press against hers, pinning her to the counter, and his hand snakes between them, his fingers popping the button of her jeans.

Her pants are off, her legs wrapped around his hips within seconds. And she’s sitting there on the filthy bathroom counter wearing absolutely nothing, her hair a mess, eyes wild. Her hand wrapped around his dick.

“Condom?” he asks.

She shakes her head, positioning him at her entrance. “Pill.”

He rams into her. She gasps. He groans, burying his face in her hair.

_Fuck,_ she feels good.

And then he pulls out, pounds back into her. Her moan is loud. She bites into his shoulder. Clings to him, nails digging into his back. And he does it again. And again. And he drives her as crazy as he’s driving himself.

“Cas-” she stutters.

He pulls out again, almost all the way and she whimpers.

“ _Castle._ ”

“Look at me.”

She bites into his shoulder again, muffles a moan. He thrusts into her again, shallow this time as his fingers curl around a handful of hair. He pulls her head back, and her eyes snap open.

“I want you to look at me, Kate.”

She moans. Loudly.

And he realizes this is turning her on _even more_. Which makes him moan.

“ _Move._ ”

So he does. He holds her head back, keeps his eyes locked on hers as he fills her over and over and over again until her eyes and fluttering closed and she’s incoherent and all he can see is _her._

Her as she stiffens.

Her as she screams.

Her as she falls apart around him.

And he comes inside her, still watching her, eyes locked on hers as white hot pleasure fills him, burns through his veins and spills into her, fills her.

He comes back to himself to have her sagged against his chest, arms wrapped around his neck. Her lips press a soft kiss against his chest. He can’t help but bury his nose in her hair, take her in.

And then it dawns on him.

They didn’t fuck. They just made love in the precinct bathroom. He just made love to Katherine Beckett in the precinct bathroom.

_Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: After the coffee incident, Castle goes after Beckett to apologize and walks in on her changing and since her bra got soaked as well she’s topless. Instead of throwing him out she teases him about acting like he’s never seen boobs before. When he swoops in and starts sucking on her nipples she shuts right up. Locker room/bathroom sex.


End file.
